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User blog:High Prince Imrahil/The Return of Herendil - Parts 4-5
PART 4 Herendil walked upon the crimson brick floors of Gandalaphant's halls in the Red Mountains. There were no other people about and the only sound was the loud clanging of Herendil's metal-shod feet echoing upon the stone with each and every step he took. Statues lined the halls on either sides, carved in the figures of great dwarven lords. Finally Herendil's walk ended as he came to a huge room, the lofty red dome reaching high into the mountain. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" said Herendil, though no other stood by. He removed his helm and knelt. "It is good to be back to your halls. This place is indeed, beautiful! Yet I fear, for dark clouds gather over Numenor. . . I have been on many adventures since I visited you last: I finally came out of my snowy cabin in the north to help Numenor once again. . . I'm in town for a war-council, you see. . . I thought I might come by and visit while I was here. . . " Herendil was standing before the tomb of Gandalf Turquise who had perished in the Battle of the Red Mountains some 15 years before. Herendil came here from time to time to speak to his old friend, even if he knew Gandalf could not hear him from Aman. It gave Herendil comfort somehow, standing near where the old wizard lay. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, a thick leather glove and a firm grip. "Are you ready, Herendil?" came a dwarven voice "It is time for the council to begin." Herendil turned to see Thorin Stonehelm in silver dwarven armour with a crimson cloak. Thorin stared sadly at the tomb as if lost in thought. "I am ready now" said Herendil, rising to his feet "I am ready to go to the council." "Very well" said Thorin "Let us go to the upper levels and talk in the council chambers." And the two of them walked silently down the long hallway and up the steps. They finally arrived at the council chambers, a huge stone table upon a balcony, fountains singing sweetly in the courtyard below. Already sitting at the table were Gandaphant, Ithilion, Sinthional, Warpig, Aragail, and Travious. The seats were all of stone, but the largest seat, made of pure quartz, was reserved for Herendil. All were gravly silent as Herendil and Thorin took their places. Herendil began his long-prepared speech. "Friends, enemies, and great warriors, I have called you here to answer a new threat: The threat of Numenor. They are not the gentle helpers of the past who traveled the coast helping the barbarians and evil men out of their dark ways. Nay, these are mighty Numenorean warriors currupted by Grevious and under his dark reign. "King's Men" if you will. He now draws Numenor for a war, a war that will wipe elf and dwarf off the face of this fair earth. A war that will destroy the world as we know it!" Herendil paused for a moment, observing the worried glances of the generals who sat before him. "My men have already infultrated Grevious's ranks: They call themselves The Faithful and are led by my counsin Elendil. But the Faithful will not be enough to turn the tides, we need specialized force of warriors that can defeat Numenoreans thousand-to-one. A guild of heros, if you will. I call you to form up a mighty fellowship, for these generals and leaders before me are the mightiest warriors that ever walked the face of Arda! I ask you to join together in a White Company: It shall be us against Grevious!" Thorin stroked his beard thoughtfully, the others silently thoughtful themselves. "So you suggest" said Thorin at last "That the eight of us form a Guild of Heros and attack Grevious like the Gondolinian rangers of old?" "Precisly!" said Herendil "The eight of us will be unwithstandable!" All were again silent, considering this. "I for one" said Warpig, his dwarven accent so thick one could cut it with a knife "will join: I see no faUlt with this. We shall become a team of warriors so skilled that none shall stand before us!" "Aye!" said Ithilion "I am willing to join" "I shall as well" said Sinthional "I will do the work of Mevans much better as a member of such a team." "Aye!" came the remainder of the captains in reply. "Excellant!" said Herendil "The Guild of heros we shall be called! I have already recieved Thorin's permission to use Khazad-dum as our headquaters! Let us all meet there in one month, then we will form a plan and strike out against the enemy!" "Aye!" came the energetic reply of all The next day Herendil set out into the West, hoping to visit his friend Varrick in Rivendell. But it was not to be so, for as he crossed the Misty Mountains. . . Herendil's steed silently trotted through the white snow, Herendil in high spirit. Gandaphant had offered him a dwarven escort but Herendil had refused it politly, prefering to trek the mountains alone. But suddenly Herendil caught a foul smell on the southwards wind. . . He stopped his horse and looked round: all he could see were white cliffs all 'round, and all he could hear was the quiet breeze. . . He spurred his horse to a steady trot forward once again, slowly yet warily. Suddenly a goblin warcry pierced the air, and diving down from the surrounding cliffs like a swarm of locust were a hundred mountain goblins armed with stone knives and rusty helms. They were on Herendil before he could draw his sword. A goblin knife hit him deep in his right leg and a club came over his head: The club shivered in the hands of a strong goblin warrior as it came with a heavy "crack" unto the head of Herendil. The Numenorean fell into the cold snows, sensless. PART 5 Herendil's head throbbed with pain. Before he even opened his eyes he could feel its pain with every pump of his beating heart. But at last Herendil seized control of his conciousnes. Where was he? What happened to the goblins? What would his fate be? Slowly he forced his eyes open to reveal a small dwarven-style room, no doubt a guardroom of some great dwarven realm. But yet spider webs lay all about it, the dust was thick, and the stone seemed worn and unpolished. Could he be in a goblin stronghold, one that was taken from the dwarves many years ago? No. . . for slowly he realized that he was on a comfortable straw bed and that his head was wrapped with gauze, surely orcs would not be so curtious. He also saw, in the corner. . . his sword and shield! Laying neatly polished with his armour in the corner of the room. Where was he?? He looked around the room: His bed was at the side of the room opposite the door, lain upon a stone framework. The room, lit by dim torches was old and dusty, looking like Herendil was the first since the First Age to use it. There were a few weapons racks along the wall: ancient dwarven things, finely crafted but dusty and covered in cobwebs. Besides an old stone table and wooden chair, the room lay almost entirely baren. He slowly got to his feet, using a dusty dwarven spear on a nearby weapons rack as a crutch. He hobbled towards the door. At first he thought about taking his sword but realized that if whoever rescued him had put it within his reach they must surly be friendly. He limped slowly to the door to see that it was an old wooden thing, barly hanging on its hinges. He thrust it open to reveal a hall lit be torchlight, the roof at the same height and in the same fashion as the room he was previously in. The hall seemed to stretch forever in either direction dotted by a few doors that Herendil could see. Not seeing anyone at all, Herendil had an uneasy feeling. "Hello?" he shouted down the hall in either direction "Is anybody there? It is I, Herendil!" There was no answer but his own voice in echo. What in the name of Manwe?? Had he been dropped off in some abandoned dwarven colony? For abandoned it truly seemed. . . His leg ached and his head still pounded, both in total pain. Perphaps he should just limp back to the room and fall back into his bed. . . But perhaps he should explore, maybe that would give him an idea of where he was. Slowly he limped down the hall the padding and clanging sound of bare foot and dwarven spear echoing in all directions, the only sound in that eerie silence. For a half of an hour Herendil wandered slowly up that near-endless hall, though Herndil knew it not: there where no windows and he knew not whether it was dusk or dawn. But not once did he come acrossed man, elf, or dwarf. Not even mouse or rat or wild animal had Herendil seen. Nothing but silent stone. He went into a few of the rooms but they were the same as the one he had came from, though without the straw bed. NOr did Herendil find any trace that anything had lived there within the last thousand years, for dust layed heavily upon everything. Dwarven runes lined the walls but Herendil was unable to read them, never being learned in their written language. Soon Herendil disppaired and turned back towards the room he had came from. It was a long walk with his limp, but he finally arrived back in the soft straw bed where he laid down. Slowly, dispite his worries and cares, he drifted into a fitful sleep. . . "Herendil, son of Eldacar!" came a gruff voice from the door, waking Herendil "I see you went away from your quarters! I had hoped you wouldn't get lost, for if you don't know the paths of this place getting lost is easy indeed. . . " Herendil jolted upwards to see the first living thing he had seen since coming to this odd place: what appeared to be an old man in blue robes, leaning on a worn wooden staff. "Gandalf!" said Herendil "Am I in the halls of Aule beyond the seas?? I would have surely thought those a cheerier place then this!" The man shook his head. "Be not fooled: I am not Gandalf Turquise, though I am his close kin. My name is Copn the Blue and we, my friend, lay in the lost city of Kvoth!" Category:Blog posts